


Whatever This Is

by RussianWitch



Category: Bastille Day (2016)
Genre: Anal Sex, Light Bondage, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 15:16:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7981225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianWitch/pseuds/RussianWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike never considered himself a masochist until he didn't have to stay with Briar any longer—but somehow never managed to leave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whatever This Is

**Author's Note:**

> not beta'd

Mike never considered himself a masochist until he didn't have to stay with Briar any longer—but somehow never managed to leave. It isn't that Briar, Sean, as he'd eventually been permitted to call the man, is good company or anything: the man is downright antisocial. It isn't because he's attached or anything: he doesn't like getting manhandled or left alone for weeks because Briar is doing something that has a clearance level. Briar definitely isn't that good of a fuck—except that he kind of is.

Because Mike likes it rough, likes the manhandling and the fact that Sean can take him apart with just his dick, and a few half-mumbled words. He likes getting bend over a saggy couch, his own belt used to tie his arms high on his back while Briar plows his ass with barely any lube. There are semi-permanent bruises on Mike's hips these days the shape of Briar's fingertips, and his asshole is almost permanently sore and tender. Not that any of that keeps Mike from saying 'yes', or moaning for more every time Briar feels like giving him any.

It should be humiliating—"Got you a present, baby," Briar announces as he drives his dick into Mike's ass with short sharp thrusts that scrape Mike's dick against the rough knit of the back pillows and grind his hips against the edge of the couch's backboard, "you're gonna love it."

He shoves Mike further forward, making breathing hard and getting the angle just right to make him see stars. Mike's toes scrabble for purchase, but the floor is probably just half an inch away and unreachable until Briar lets him go. "I'd be happy with an orgasm, man," Mike manages to get out with what feels like his last breath.

"Dare to dream big," Briar chuckles, and fucks him harder, slapping Mike's ass with every thrust until Mike is sobbing into the pillows considering begging—he hates begging, loves begging, hates—Briar pulls out and Mike screams his frustration into the pillow, earning himself another slap on the ass.

"Noisy." Briar grumbles, Mike doesn't have enough brain cells to figure out if it's an accusation or a compliment.

He's flipped like a damn pancake and balanced precariously on the back of the couch as Briar considers what to do with his big hands on Mike's cheeks, thumbs tracing Mike's cheekbones lazily. Briar's dick twitches hot and wet against Mike's abdomen, rocking against Mike's equally hard dick. It's so weirdly _intimate_ , that Mike has no fucking clue what the hell to do with it. He turns his head, licks wetly across Briar's palm and sinks his teeth in the fleshy base of Briar's thumb.

"Brat."

He's hoisted off the back of the couch, his legs automatically wrapping around Briar's waist for support. Getting dragged off to the bedroom is somewhat new, getting dropped onto the bed isn't. Briar follows him down, catching Mike's hands and pinning them to the bed while mauling his throat. Their dicks rub against each other, and it's nice and—Mike bites his lip refusing to ask for more. He isn't ready to demand anything yet, just to see where Briar is going to take this, his arms digging into his spine.

"Would have thought you'd have been able to get yourself out of the belt by now," Briar muses, nipping across Mike's collarbone.

"Didn't know I was supposed to," Mike pants back, he still isn't sure exactly what Briar expects from him. Not that he has ever practiced escaping bonds as such. If he ended up bound, Mike has always figured, he was fucked anyway and wouldn't be able to talk his way out of things so there wasn't any point in bothering.

"I suppose I should teach you some tricks—later," Briar concedes, cupping a pectoral, teasing the tight nub with the tip of his tongue until Mike is whining with lust, licks the fur surrounding the nipple until it's flat and soaked with saliva, and Mike has his mouth open to beg.

Briar hasn't been this through before, usually, he preferred to get them both off and get on with things. Mike never thought his bellybutton could be an erogenous zone, but after it gets nipped, licked and fucked thoroughly by Briar's tongue, he swears not to make the mistake of discounting it again. Having Briar's mouth so close to his dick makes him hopeful that he's getting off soon, maybe even down Briar's throat. Instead, he get's three days worth of stubble scraping along the oversensitive shaft, leaving him writhing in something like agony and trying to knee Briar in the shoulder.

All the attempt gets Mike, is getting laughed at, and stubble burn on his inner thighs before Briar gets bored with torturing him. Even if he can barely feel his arms any longer, from his current position Mike can at least look up at Briar as he knees between Mike's legs glistening with sweat, chest heaving and lips twisted in a dangerous grin, the head of his dick deep purple and shiny, leaking steadily, making Mike's mouth water.

He tries to sit up, get at the proud flesh, choke himself on it—only Briar pushes him back, shuffles closer and shoves back, fills Mike's ass to bursting. Briar throws Mike's legs over his shoulders, practically folds him in half like Mike doesn't need to breathe or anything like that. He whines and tries to get enough air to tell Briar to cut it the fuck out, but it feels too good.

His dick slaps wetly against his abdomen with every one of Briar's thrusts, brings him closer to the edge. Sean's eyes burn staring down at him, devouring every one of Mike's expressions and sounds. He wonders when exactly things have started to change? But the thought disintegrates as Sean does something obscene with his hips and Mike sees stars, spilling all over his own chest.

Sean wraps his hand around Mike's dick once he starts coming down, stroking the oversensitive flesh, wringing pained pleasure out of Mike's confused body torturing his prostate and dick until Mike comes again come and tears painting his cheeks and Sean's pleased purrs in his ears. He barely notices Sean pulling out, and spilling himself on Mike's chest.

Mike barely registers Sean collapsing next to him until a hand drags through the mess on his belly wrapping possessively around his middle. Sean pulls him to his side, slurring something about 'pretty boys' and 'fucking irresponsible', burying his face in Mike's shoulder.

After the fucking he's gotten, Mike should be passing out as well. Only now his mind is going a mile a minute trying to figure out when 'blowing off steam' turned into this 'fucking irresponsible' whatever it is.

He wonders how long it's going to last?       


End file.
